provocations that drove them to it, it was unquestionably a terrible act. An immoral act, a criminal act. A terrible thing. But it’s so easy and cheap to evaluate these things in hindsight.
Yes, ma’am. At what point in time did you first hear them discuss this plan?
It must have been January.
Of this year?
Yes, of course.
That was just after the company went on the rocks.
It was just after the company was driven onto the rocks, Mr. Skinner. There’s an important distinction.
I understand. Go on, please.
They were bitter. There’s no denying it. Our whole lifetimes brought to this point-the injustice of it. I’m sure you can see how that could affect anyone. Anyone at all. Much lesser men than Harold or Charles.
They felt betrayed?
Betrayed, angry, bitter, exhausted. There are so many words to describe it. But none really expresses how they felt-how the three of us felt, really. I worked in the office at Aeroflight myself, you know. I was a member of the team right alongside them, shoulder-to-shoulder with them. I’d seen it through with them. They’d been such gentle beings all their lives, can you understand that? And here time and time again the callous petty criminals of this world had destroyed all the things we’d worked for. Not our personal fortunes or possessions-we didn’t care about those. But out of their unfeeling greed the businessmen had literally broken Harold and Charles. In his way Harold, particularly, was a very proud man. You must understand that.
Proud of his engineering talents, you mean?
Proud of himself, as an important pioneer in the field of endeavor which he championed.
I see.
Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Skinner. Harold didn’t want to lord it over anyone. He had no interest in usurping power over people. I sometimes thought that was his biggest mistake. He always complained that people in authority were incompetent to administer. But Harold never took the time to exercise authority himself, even when he had it. That was his primary weakness, I believe. By default he had made it possible-made it easy for the businessmen to destroy his life. But that certainly doesn’t absolve them from any responsibility for having destroyed him. He may have made himself vulnerable-but they were the ones who exploited his vulnerability.
Go on, please.
Time after time our dreams had been crushed by men with money. Men to whom money and power were synonymous. Harold and Charles wanted very little, really. All they wanted was the freedom to work. Inevitably, it seemed, that freedomlvas denied them. By incompetent superiors at first. That taught them they had to have their own company-their own workshop in which they could develop their own inventions without interference from bosses. But unless you’re very rich, you can’t establish your own company without outside investment capital. And as soon as you solicit capital, you have to contend with ignorant greedy investors.
Stockholders.
Exactly. No matter what we did, we were at the mercy of men with money. And men with money are men who will ruin you every time, without an ounce of feeling.
Well, that depends on whether they think you’re doing a profitable job for them with their money, doesn’t it? In any case, I gather what you’re saying is that your brother and Mr. Ryterband began to feel that they could obtain the freedom to work only by amassing a considerable fortune of their own, so that they wouldn’t be at the mercy of outside investors?
You put it very well, Mr. Skinner. That was exactly what they had in mind. They wanted money, because after all their experiences they had learned that in this world there is no other freedom. Not if you’re dedicated to a kind of work that requires expensive machinery.
So they decided to steal the money.
It wasn’t an out-and-out decision, Mr. Skinner. They dreamed aloud. To me that was all it was, until after it actually happened. I had no idea they would actually do it.
Weren’t you aware of the reconversion work your brother was doing on that old bomber? The work must have taken them months, if it was only the two of them.
You can believe this or not, as you please, Mr. Skinner, but not only was I completely unaware of it-my husband was equally unaware of it. Harold rebuilt that bomber completely by himself, with his own two hands. It was his secret until the very end.
Are you sure your husband didn’t know about it? Couldn ‘t he have been keeping it from you?
I’m quite sure. My husband never kept things from me.
I see. Then in fact Mr. Ryterband wasn’t let in on the plan until the last minute?
We were all let in on the plan very early, Mr. Skinner. But it wasn’t a plan then, don’t you see? It was a dream. A fantasy. It was as if they were composing the scenario for a movie. We played at it as if it were a game. “Wouldn’t it be fitting if we could get the money from the businessmen? They owe it to us.” It was that sort of thing, do you see?
Like children hatching diabolical plots against grownups whom they don’t like. The sort of plots that are worked out in great detail, but which everyone knows will never be acted upon.
Yes. You do understand. I knew you would. Don’t you see, children’s fantasies are like that-they can afford to be cruel because it’s all only imaginary. I know I for one indulged avidly in the fantasy. We would sit around gleefully imagining the consternation of those fat men in New York, pouring their perspiration out while a bomber circled overhead threatening to destroy them at any moment, and powerless to do anything about it at all! It sounds such a terrible confession to make, but can you believe we all sat around and laughed, just thinking about the expressions on their faces?
Yes, I can see that. It was a game of make-believe.
Oh, my, exactly, yes! You do see-you really do.
Yes, ma’am. I think so. Now, how did this scheme take shape, do you recall? I mean, how did the details develop in your minds?
I’m afraid it’s rather confused in my memory. You don’t hatch a make-believe fantasy full-blown. It grows, rather like a pearl-layer by layer. Detail by detail.
There must have been a kernel. An idea that triggered it.
Well, it must have been the idea-Harold’s idea-that there ought to be a way to get our money by using our own old airplanes. The very airplanes the businessmen had sneered at, as obsolete and useless. It was the attraction of that irony, I think.
And perhaps the idea of proving that a thirty-year-old Flying Fortress wasn’t quite as “useless” as the world thought?
Yes. That’s it.
I think I have a general picture of the origins of the scheme, Mrs. Ryterband. I wonder if we could shift our discussion to some concrete details. There are questions to which we still don’t have answers, and maybe you can help us there.
I’ll be happy to try.
Thank you. One thing that’s troubled us is the bombs your brother had in the airplane. They were real bombs, of course. But the question is, where did he get them?
He bought them. From the Air Force.
Openly?
My, yes. At one of the surplus auctions. Several years ago, actually. Of course he didn’t buy them originally to use them as bombs.
I beg your pardon. What else could they be used for?
Why, scrap metal of course. The Air Force certainly isn’t about to sell real bombs to civilians.
I’m sorry. I’m confused.
The bombs were five-hundred-pound bomb casings, Mr. Skinner. The explosives had been removed, of course. They were simply empty casings. The Air Force sold them for scrap metal. Harold and Charles were always buying scrap metal, by the ton. Those old bomb casings were a good deal less expensive than new steel from a factory.
I’m beginning to clear it up in my mind, Mrs. Ryterband, but I still don’t understand how he obtained the
